The Marsh Angel, Hagai Dagan [free e reader .TXT] 📗

sat down to listen to the conversation. Shit, the reception’s terrible, he said after a couple of seconds. He leaned forward in concentration, closed his eyes, and played the reel back and forth over and over again. Finally, he sat up, sighed in satisfaction, and handed Tamir the result:

Zulfiqar: What about the things?

Hitler: They’re ready.

Zulfiqar: How many cars do you need?

Hitler: One (unclear word, probably pickup-truck) will do.

Zulfiqar: Where is it in Tyre?

Hitler: In the warehouse by Abu Jamil’s office.

Zulfiqar: Will it be ready by tonight?

Hitler: No, come tomorrow.

Zulfiqar: Is it just for the Korean?

Hitler: Yes.

Zulfiqar: What else is new?

Hitler: Someone important is visiting tomorrow, from those up north, above Hussain. He’ll stop by to visit the allies up there first, and then continue down to us.

Zulfiqar: The one who was here before? With the eye incident?

Hitler: (Laughs.) Even with one eye, the way he looks at you is terrifying. Imagine if he had two…

Zulfiqar: (Laughs.)

Hitler: Brother, that’s actually not funny, show some respect. You know, he was a young soldier during their war with the great infidel, when he lost his eye. He’s a soldier of Allah.

Zulfiqar: You’re right. Respect…

(Rest of the audio is broken and unintelligible.)

Tamir looked at the transcriber. Really broken?

Bro, believe me, you could give it to Sasson the Legend and he wouldn’t be able to make out a single word. I busted my ear over it. There’s no way.

Tamir nodded. Okay. Very interesting conversation. Maybe we’ll play a game of chess after I’m done taking care of this.

We’ll play tomorrow. I’m going back to bed.

Okay, good night. Tamir wanted to express more appreciation, but didn’t know how. He sat down to annotate the conversation. He wrote that he believes they are referring to a Korean rocket-launcher and that the first part of the conversation regarded armament. Zulfiqar’s question whether it would be prepared by tonight indicates a high probability that there will be a rocket-launcher attack conducted in the Naqoura-‘Alma al-Sha‘ab sector in the coming days. Regarding the second part of the conversation, he wrote that it most likely indicates a visit by a high-level functionary to the operatives’ sector. The combination ‘above Hussain’ most likely pertains to a senior Hezbollah member named Hussain Ma‘atuq from the Beit Lahia sector. If that is indeed the case, then ‘those to his north’ are factors in the Lebanon Valley, very likely factors from the Iranian Revolutionary Guard. In that case, the allies next to them could be factors from Front/Jibril (who collaborate with Iranian factors), with an emphasis on the airborne unit’s base in Baalbek.

He forwarded the conversation and, as expected, a couple of minutes later his phone started ringing. Everyone demanded more details and clarifications, but that’s all he had to give. The general warnings were soon issued, but it was clear that there was not much else that could be done at the moment. After the phone-calls died down, Tamir stayed in his chair and stared pensively at the conversation. He was less interested in the rocket launchers than in the second part. He wrote to Nissenbaum and asked him to find out with Department 143 that deals with Iran if they know of an Irani functionary with one eye operating in Lebanon, who probably lost his eye during the Iran-Iraq War. He assumed the ‘Great Infidel’ mentioned in the conversation was Saddam Hussein.

The following day, he called Yaki and asked that ‘Ali the Yellow would try to find something out about such a visit.

‘Ala ayni wa-‘ala rasi, Yaki said in his nasal voice. And what about our friend?

This might have something to do with her, Tamir replied.

How so?

I don’t know.

Intuition…?

Henri Bergson thought that we should base our consciousness on our intuition rather than on our geometric perception.

You were a dweeb growing up, weren’t you?

Yeah, I guess so, Tamir muttered meekly.

Where are you?

In Efroni.

Oh, I hear the girls are hot there. Did you get any?

No.

Your priorities are fucked up, believe me.

Yeah, possibly.

j. Pools of Light

Tamir headed straight for Kidonit from Efroni, to finalize a few things before completing his transfer away from the base. After bidding farewell to Jonny— he was glad to discover Harel and Zaguri were at home— returning his equipment to the quartermaster, and completing the necessary paperwork, he went out to take one last look at the view from the fence. He stood there, reflectively gazing at the tree-crowned mountains and the pine forest, when a familiar voice sounded behind him.

Are you leaving without saying goodbye?

He turned around slowly. Ophira was standing there, smiling her enigmatic smile.

I thought you were at home.

No.

Yes, evidently.

Are you glad I’m not home?

Yes, evidently.

And are you glad to be leaving us?

Most of you, not all of you.

Me?

No.

I imagined.

Say…

What?

He cast his gaze on the view. Suddenly, he was struck with an idea. When’s your shift starting?

Not until evening.

How do you feel about grave veneration?

About what?!

Have you ever been down to Ein-Doev?

Why in the world would I go down to Ein-Doev?

Do you wanna?

She looked at him. A mischievous spark flickered momentarily in her eyes, like a shimmering diamond in the depths of the sweet lake water. To venerate the tzadik’s grave?

Something like that.

Sounds interesting, she said. The victory bells and celebratory canon roars from the interlude to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture played in Tamir’s mind.

They hitched a ride from the base down to the grave with a family who had come from Acre in a rickety Peugeot station wagon. The car made its way down the steep dirt roads bypassing the base. The woman spoke about the miraculous attributes of the tzadik, while the man was driving, silent and distracted, brushing his fingers through his long, patchy beard, and the children were fighting and bickering among themselves. Ophira and Tamir sat in the back, allowing their gazes to cross. He felt both alert and strangely serene. He was wallowing in the muddy lake waters, but not drowning in them. If they were to do it on the grave, he thought, it would actually be a ménage à trois with